


the steep and thorny way

by spiraetspera



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, grief fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6814078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiraetspera/pseuds/spiraetspera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“ They are connected, after all – and if she feels his pain it is only logical that he can hear hers. A vice versa case of sorrow.” </p><p>Roy and Riza deal with loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the steep and thorny way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mustangsgloves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustangsgloves/gifts).



> pain.jpg

**i.**

Nowadays, even if Roy is not drunk, he manages to act as if he would be.

The first time it happens is when they go – no, _he_ goes – to see Maes’ body in a hospital, white and dead. She is waiting outside a room that smells of antiseptics rotting in a small place - and she holds papers, letters; holds that photograph too, speckled in Hughes’ red red blood. She is holding onto her sanity, and prays for his.

And when he comes out of the room at last, he does not acknowledge her. He hurries away and Riza feels real tears in the corner of her eyes as he watches him -  that beloved back, broad and fleeting. She knows this hunted look on his face, _oh so familiar_ : he is trying to run, run, run away.

Roy wants to best his guilt. This, she knows above all. To transform it, make it beautiful and valuable and tangible and yet; in the end he is constantly escaping his own mind. 

Then, just before actually stepping out of the door, Roy reels. His right leg seems to lurch, and for a horrible moment Riza thinks; _god, he is fainting, he will fall flat to the ground_ and she jumps to catch him before he lands onto the marble.

But he does not. Instead, Roy makes a strange sort of lilt with his feet and lets out a strangled cough. Tries to laugh it away; his voice hollow and dead. He is whiter than the wall and Riza knows he is going to be sick. Neither of them makes a sound as she points to his right where the nearest bathroom is. 

When he reappears, they both pretend.

 

**ii.**

Back in the East, she knows he measures time in work and alcohol. Riza catches his leg splay sometimes, in the lazy afternoon hours, especially when the weather is clear and the sun gilds the office. Her heart aches and the wound deepens when she realizes she cannot solve this, that there is _nothing_ to solve. Grief, like a stone, sits inside him. 

Roy has to live with this. It is both their duty and interest to figure out how. It is her love, that foreign and heavy state, that will have to do now. 

It is an otherwise natural sight, that he is the first to arrive and the last to leave; but there is something unnatural on Roy’s face now, his face a mask too stoic.

 Riza knows it is his way of convincing himself, to prove he is still in control. But his eyes are dark with fatigue and something akin to hunger. Riza thinks; he wants to devour the world for Hughes, he wants to devour his own sorrow, he wants - _he wants…_

To ease his sorrow – to ease him, she resolves to do most of the paperwork herself – fakes his signatures and begs Sheska through the phone to take over some of the load their section bears. Sheska tells her not to worry; and then lowers her voice and says, _The colonel spends most of his time in the Brigadier-General’s office._

Riza stares into the silence that follows the statement. Her heart is screaming, its beats as frantic as a sobbing held back for too long. She wonders if the Colonel can feel it, can hear it: the wailing. 

They are connected, after all – and if she feels his pain it is only logical that he can hear hers. A _vice versa_ case of sorrow. 

 _Her_ grief for Hughes. The unmitigated grief.

Yet when she turns to meet his eyes as she puts down the phone, he looks away. Riza realizes he is ashamed.

 

**iii.**

She even goes as far to stay up one night, call Rebecca, and plan a fake arson case together to extricate his conscious from the office and the military for a while, but ultimately decides against it. Post-case investigation would only take more of their (hishishis) time and energy. 

Riza falls into uneasy sleep after giving the story up – dreams of whitehot sand and the blood; dreams of shooting Hughes in the head and feels the terror and the sudden peace when she does. She wakes up with a jolt, reaching for the gun from under the bed, holds it to her chest, and waits for the dawn.

 

**iv.**

_This cannot continue,_ she tells her reflection in the morning after. _You two need to talk._

For the second time in her life she is late, and only manages to comb her hair halfthrough, just brush her teeth in a hellhurry, which she abhors. So Riza flings the comb into her bag, and spits into the sink as a form of goodbye to her flat and Hayate. 

The moment she steps into their small office, Fuery puts the phone in her hand. The room seems crowded; there are others from Hughes’ old team, helping out. 

It is the end of summer, she realizes, as Madame Christmas chides that she had not been visiting. They talk for at least half an hour when she spots Falman approaching with a great stack of paper from the corner of her eyes.

“I promise I will, Chris. Yes, I will bring him too.” she has but to glance at the documents to deem that they are signed ones. “What are these, Vato?”

Falman leans closer.

“Lieutenant” he sounds sheepish. “You have some toothpaste under your nose.”

Riza stares and it takes every ounce of her discipline not to burst out laughing. She knows if she does she might go hysterical. Instead, she takes the papers and holds them against her chin. Thanks Falman with a glance, eternally grateful, and hurries out.

 

**v.**

Would hurry straight to the bathroom, were it not for Roy and they collide, the papers and their dignity on the floor. 

He smells of cheap liquor and his _ohso_ -distant eyes become focused as they drink her in, shocked. She knows she must look livid and it is strange for him; but her nerves are humming the strange kind of tune, the one she feels before shooting. 

“Where have you been?” he is whispering. Riza wants to say, _Well, I have been trying to set this whole place on fire, but this is your area of expertise,_ so - but she catches him looking at her mouth, _the toothpaste, yes_ , and her own tongue becomes heavy with something indescribable. 

And then he is crashing against her again, in a much more meek and sweet way now; pushes her through a door and against the cold marble walls of the bathroom before Riza can say; _someone will waltz in here and see; see what?_

Roy does not kiss her. Only pushes his head against hers, then against her neck and right shoulder. It is painful, because he is clutching her, _RoyRoyRoy_ , finally devouring this moment. It is not her body he needs now, but her forgiveness. Wants any forgiveness. Pity. Wants to share. Kisses her hands with which she pulls the trigger. Kisses each finger and pushes them to her face, trembling. Says, 

“I am so sorry, sorry, please, sorry” until she is the one who holds him up, makes him stand straight and she says nothing until the tremors are gone and life returns to his limbs.

Then she cups his face, gently and surely and says,

“Let’s go home and sleep.”

As they leave, they don’t pretend.


End file.
